Read Online Wild Abandon by Jeannine Colette - Free Book Online

there. Make shit wine and sell it for too much. Even you knew it was junk.”
    I grin, knowing that was the moment Ed decided to hire me.
    He continues, “I couldn’t hire someone who likes the stuff.”
    “I like your wine. Where do you make it?”
    Ed’s face falls. His eyes drift to the bar top, and I have a feeling I asked the wrong question.
    “We stopped making wine a few years back. I lease the land to another winery. They harvest the grapes and make their own.”
    I didn’t realize the property had…property. “How large is your vineyard?”
    “Twenty acres.”
    I blink at him in amazement. This place must have really been something at one point. Twenty acres of growing grapes, harvesting the fruits, and then making barrels of wine every year. I don’t know a lot about wine, but I know this is a good bottle.
    “Why did you stop making wine?” Ed doesn’t answer, so I ask the same question I asked yesterday, “What’s the plan? Naomi said you wanted someone to play music during wine tastings.”
    “I never said I wanted to do wine tastings. She came here with her laptop and that quirky little kid. Before I knew it, she was redesigning my logo and telling me she had a new hire for me who plays the cello.” He raises his finger to me. “That is one pushy broad.”
    Despite my manners, I laugh out loud in agreement with his description of Naomi and use of the term broad . From anyone else, I would have found it rude, but in his old-school curmudgeon tone, it’s endearing.
    “She is, and I’m here. So, what are we going to do?”
    My question surprises him, and if I’m honest, I’m surprising myself. I should be hauling ass up to Moet where my experience and music should be welcomed, and quite frankly, be a far better fit. Yet, for some reason, I feel comfortable here at Russet Ranch.
    Without a word, Ed turns to his left and opens a door. He reaches a hand inside the closet and pulls out a mop. He makes his way around the bar and hands me the mop.
    A mop? “What am I supposed to do with this?”
    Walking away from me, he says, “If we’re gonna open her back up, we’d better make these floors shine.”
    My voice comes out in a huff. “I wasn’t hired to clean. I was hired to play the cello.” Wasn’t I?
    With his back still to me, he says, “Can’t play if they won’t come to this mess.”
    And he walks out the door.
    I blow out a puff of air and look at the stupid mop. I feel like this is some kind of Karate Kid moment. Maybe I’ll learn some awesome winetasting skill based on the movement of mopping the floor.
    Yeah, I know. Not likely.

    It’s been two weeks since I stepped off the plane. In two weeks, I’ve gone on three bad dates, had eight days of employment where I’ve cleaned an old barn turned winery—like I belong to the Merry Maids—and had several lessons on the art of wine by a man whom I can’t say no to for some reason. Something about Big Ed makes me want to hug him, but I wouldn’t dare because he’d probably ask me if I were on acid before he walked out of the room.
    The way I hear him humming old show tunes makes me smile. Earlier today, I was reorganizing the bar area—which I have learned is where the wine tastings will occur—and sorting through the cabinets. I was making piles of old wine bottles and cork, coming up with craft ideas I could do with them, when I heard him whistling while walking through the room. It took me a moment to decipher the song. I’d heard it before, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
    And then he started to sing in a very low voice to himself, “ I feel pretty. Oh, so pretty… ”
    Silencing my chuckle, I placed my hand over my mouth and hid on the floor behind the bar, hoping he wouldn’t see me. When he was safely out of the room, I let out a laugh and went back to work.
    And here I am, at a restaurant, contemplating the contradiction that is Ed Martin.
    “What do you know about Big Ed?” I ask Naomi, who is sitting